One Almost Year
by Soranator
Summary: ChristophexKyle. Slash. I think I need rehab to stop me writing about these two.


It's January and we're still young.

I'm freezing my balls off just to hang out at this abandoned shit hole because it's quiet and it gives me somewhere to think. It's crumbling apart and I'm sure the only reason it's keeping together is to impress us one last time before a strong blast of wind knocks it down. There's no heating and no windows because someone keeps smashing them. Today, I met that someone. Sat on the icy floor, surrounded by cigarette butts and ashes, on his own. Christophe Delorne.

It's February and we're still young.

I'm sitting with Christophe and talking at him. He doesn't reply to me much, and when he does it's usually an insult, but I love a good argument. He's shorter than me but much wider, with dark brown hair and eyes to match. His accent makes me shiver sometimes, and I don't cover it up as well as I could. I tell you I like someone and for once you ask the follow up question. "Who?" But I'll never tell you.

It's March and we're still young.

The wall shakes threateningly as Christophe throws me against it, via his hand around my throat. I guess my joke was a little too much. I try to laugh but his grip is so tight, it hurts just to breathe.

"You don't scare me." I choke out my lie because I don't like to lose. In fact, I never lose, and I'll never lose to a piece of shit like him. He pins me down and bites my neck, and I grit my teeth so as not to make a sound.

"Why do you wear so many clothes, Jew?" I close my eyes because he knows as well as I do that I can't resist him.

He fucks me on the frozen floor and afterwards I laugh. I know exactly what I'm getting myself into but I can't help myself.

It's April and we're still young.

I haven't seen him since late March, since the incident. I have no idea where he his, what he's doing… who he's doing… and it's now that I realise how much I miss him when he's not around. It's sickening.

It's May and we're still young.

He's back. He went to France to visit his Father. He told me all this. He talks a lot more actually, and I love it, because his voice always has the same effect on me. I invited him to my house one time. Not directly, I just mentioned how cold it was and how my family didn't mind visitors, even short French ones with hygiene problems. He punched me and I kissed him, and I really didn't mean to. He left.

It's June and we're getting older.

We're sat in my room together for the first time. I'm on my laptop and he's being nosey, looking at my posters and book titles.

"You study a lot?" He asked. I nodded. "I want to be a doctor."

"A doctor, huh? I zink you would suit zat." I hide my grin because that's the first nice thing he's ever said to me.

It's July.

It's warm for the first time so we're back outside, by Stark Pond. It's strange seeing it in its liquid state and I comment on this. Then I lean on his shoulder, testing my limits really. I nearly die when he puts his arm around me.

It's August.

The sun has had it's month and has disappeared again, so we're back in the house. Christophe's sleeping at my house for the first time and surprisingly he fell asleep before me. He did have a job just before this, in all fairness. I climb in next to him and he pulls me towards him in his sleep. I realise that I don't just like him anymore.

It's September.

Christophe tells me about a job he has in Russia in November. It sounds a lot worse than what he usually does. I mention it. He shrugs it off and says he can handle it. I'm worrying like a woman. I kiss his cheek then down his neck and curl up next to him. We're silent for a moment and all I can hear is my brothers music in the next room, acoustic and quiet, and Christophe's breathing.

"It's been nine months since we met."

"Oui."

"It's not that long."

"Oui."

The conversation ends there.

It's October and we're getting older.

"You can fucking talk! All I ever 'ear from you eez 'Christophe, say something nice for once. Christophe, do zis, Christophe, why aren't you like zis?" and eet drives me crazy! I'm never good enough!"

"Asking you to say one fucking nice thing is hardly difficult you bastard!"

"You act like a woman!"

"You're a dick!"

"Why does eet bozzer you so much!?"

"I love you!" Silence.

…

"… Kyle."

It's November and I'm getting older.

You on the other hand will be forever 18, body buried in snow somewhere in Moscow. It was almost a year.


End file.
